The Angel of the Opera
by luvlani88
Summary: Paris, 1870. The Opera Populaire is at its prime, despite mysterious occurrences throughout the theater. Thousands flock from across Europe to regard the Opera's productions in the grand theater. Entwined in the web of the Opera's performances, John Watson, a dancer with little recognition, hears a voice. A single, beautiful voice. Calling him. Beckoning him closer...


**Hello!**

 **Brief author's note from me. I tend to do this at the beginning of my fanfictions, but i'll try not to as much for this one.  
Just so we're all on the same page, this isn't an exclusive Johnlock fic, but it will cater to the johnlock shippers out there.**

 **And if you're following my current ongoing Hetalia fanfiction, Buried Within; not to worry, I am continuing with that, and it will be updated soon!**

 **More importantly; The story, while integrated with the Sherlock characters and few references, etc., will center around the plot line of The Phantom of the Opera 2004(?) movie, not the original book. Although I have read the original, I find the movie more entertaining, and easier adaptable to the Sherlock side of this fanfic. Also, if you'll notice, there will be some reference to the original novel throughout the story.  
Thanks very much and I hope you enjoy!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the BBC Sherlock characters or The Phantom of the Opera characters and movie plot line. All rights go to their respective owners. I'm only combining the two, therefore the actual written work that follows is mine.**

 **Thank you!**

 **As always, reviews, rates, feedback, follows and favourites are all greatly appreciated!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-luvlani88**

* * *

Everything in the room was a bitter grey.

From the dirt on the windows that, along with the occasional wooden boards, made the room quite dim, to the thick dust that laid on every surface imaginable. The stained wooden floors, the turned over and broken old theater seats, the occasional half-destroyed table piled high with nothing of particular use, everything was covered in the grey.

The dust bothered the old woman's nose.

" _Lot 666, then!_ " Echoing around the room, the auctioneer's voice was splitting the heavy silence that hung in the building. He really wasn't shouting. But the lack of decent background noise made it seem like he was.

 _"A chandelier in pieces!"_ A slight gasp escaped the old woman's throat. However, it appeared nobody had taken notice.

Nobody, except for a woman in a veil, standing alone, across the room.  
At first glance, she appeared young; a slim figure, straight posture, and seemingly very interested in the auction. However, upon closer inspection, it was obvious it was merely a facade.

Beneath the inky veil and hat held a worn and wrinkled face, decorated with a matte crimson lip colour. A few stray white hairs had escaped the bun she wore under her hat, nearly blending into her pale and tired skin.

" _Some of you may recall…"_

The old woman noticed that unlike herself, the woman held a slight smile; a smirk filled with mischief. It took the old woman a moment to realize that the other was smirking towards her. Their eyes locked. The jaded eyes she had were unmistakably bright; surprising, for a woman her age.  
They were filled with the same mischief and deviousness as her smile.

Silently, the mischievous old woman nodded to the other.

" _The strange affair of…"_

Beside her, the nurse whispered something about moving the wheelchair to have a better position to see. She nodded, and although the nurse took that as an affirmation to her actions, the nod was only intended for the devilish woman across the room.

They exchanged no words.

" _The Phantom of the Opera"_

Their attention was back to the auctioneer.

" _A mystery never fully explained!"_

Again, the mischievous woman glanced back to the crippled one, and although no sound could be heard, the old woman was positive that a laugh had escaped her.

" _We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier…"_

Nothing had changed about that woman, she decided. A few more wrinkles had appeared, yes, but it was still the same woman that had smiled at her the same way all those years ago. The air was still as they regarded each other again.

" _...which figures in the famous disaster!_ "

The small crowd turned to regard the large white sheet in the center of the room which covered the chandelier. It was magnificently big.

But then again, it had to be to destroy an entire Opera.

" _Our work staff have repaired it,"_

A raised eyebrow from the mischievous old woman.

" _And wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost from so many years ago…"_

A chill went up the crippled woman's spine as she watched the workmen hover around the bulky shape. The air felt so still, it was maddening.

" _With a little illumination!_ "

She glanced back at the old woman across the room. Her eyes were fixed on the shape of the chandelier, a new sort of mischief in them. A knowing smile, rather than a devilish one.

Absolutely maddening!

" _Gentleman!"_

The sheet was pulled upwards, revealing the golden chandelier, and all of its magnificent markings, tilted slightly and placed ungracefully on the ground.  
As the sheet was removed, a spark erupted from the new lights. A brief shower of white sparks fell to the ground as the chandelier was illuminated.  
Bright light glowed from the electric light bulbs, casting shadows on everything in the room. The workmen pulled on the ropes, to slowly raise the chandelier to where it had first fallen from.

As it rose, it seemed to breath a cool breathe that swept over the small crowd, stirring the dust that had been settled for decades.

The breath crippled old woman's lungs hitched. She was sure she could hear something. An organ.

The air was electric again.

And the Opera came alive.


End file.
